


Burn On Big River

by AngGriffen



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-13
Updated: 2008-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngGriffen/pseuds/AngGriffen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 2007 season in 10 drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn On Big River

**i.**  
The Indians should rethink these winter press tours. Cleveland is fucking cold in the middle of January, and getting bused hours away from the city to go talk to the fans in the greater Cleveland area isn’t exactly Josh Barfield’s idea of a good time.

He shows up to the bus, Nintendo DS in hand, and this is how he meets Ryan Garko, who is about as goofy looking as Barfield is, but twice as smart -- except not smart enough to know when to shut the fuck up.

Barfield decides he likes him two minutes into their first conversation.

 

**ii.**  
Chain O’ Lakes park is a dump. Barfield’s played in worse -- Memorial Stadium was an embarrassment -- but that was A-ball, and this is supposed to be a big league facility.

The precious hours he gets away from that hellhole, Barfield spends getting dragged places by Garko. Garko wants to drive to Orlando and see the Magic. Garko wants to try to find a club -- an adventure which ends up a complete failure.

Barfield makes himself put up some token resistance because he likes going places with Garko, but it’s fun to watch him try to be persuasive. 

 

**iii.**  
They’re goddamn baseball refugees, snowed out and adopted by Milwaukee, living in hotels when they’re supposed to be the home team.

Barfield’s all turned around, but that feels like an excuse, like “I was drunk” feels like an excuse, but that doesn’t make it any less true. 

It’s true that he let Garko get him into bed, get his hand down his pants -- more than let, reached out and gave his man a hand, too.

It’s fucking dangerous, this kind of shit, but if they’re gonna be refugees, Barfield’s okay with living on the edge for a little bit.

 

**iv.**  
He and Garko share a downtown apartment, and Grady invites himself over more nights than not. Grady lives in the suburbs in a real house like he thinks he’s supposed to, but it’s apparent he’d rather live downtown.

Grady talks them into clubbing, like they’re supposed to, and once Barfield and Grady go on a midnight release trek through every sold-out GameStop in town, like they’re just regular people.

And sometimes Barfield tells Grady to buzz off when he wants to come over, trying not to think about why he’s saying it.

So Grady probably knows about him and Garko.

 

**v.**  
Barfield likes Cleveland -- or rather, he likes his _situation_ in Cleveland -- but Cleveland fucking hates him.

Not the people. The people are okay.

But he’s mired in the worst hitting slump of his life, and it’s hard not to be convinced that he just can’t do it. Maybe he just can’t hit at the American League level. Maybe not even at the Major League level. Maybe he can’t adjust.

His dad calls to talk about baseball every night, like clockwork, but it’s like something’s just not sinking in.

If he could just hit, this year would be perfect.

 

**vi.**  
This thing with Garko keeps happening. 

And it makes some part of Barfield seize up. He’s supposed to be the good son: the one who doesn’t get in trouble, who does everything he’s supposed to, who his dad can be proud of. Except he can’t hit for shit, and he’s sucking cock and loving every minute of it.

This isn’t who he was supposed to be. This isn’t what his _life_ was supposed to be.

It’s unexpected and good/not-good at the same time, and he probably doesn’t need existential gay angst on top of everything else, but there it is.

 

**vii.**  
Garko hits a walk-off, and in the dogpile afterward, Barfield and Grady tackling him, Barfield’s helmet whacks Garko on the bridge of his nose as the three of them hit the ground. Barfield doesn’t even notice until later, too caught up in the win and the raucous celebration. 

When they get back to the apartment, Garko’s on him, clutching and rubbing up against him the minute they’re in the door. 

Barfield doesn’t know if it was the hit or the violence or the manly press of the bodies that did it to him, but when Garko’s like this, it’s infectious.

 

**viii.**  
It’s a horrible idea, falling into Garko’s bed so regularly. One person isn’t supposed to mean that much, isn’t supposed to be that many things all at once to someone. 

You don’t shit where you eat. That’s just good sense.

It’s an especially bad idea in the transient life of a ballplayer -- you don’t want to wrap everything up in one person, because trades and demotions are facts of life. Barfield knows this first hand.

He shuts Garko out sometimes, hoping Garko will understand why, but for someone who’s so fucking smart, Garko’s pretty thick about this. 

Thank God.

 

**ix.**  
It’s no surprise when Barfield gets benched. You don’t hit: you don’t play. 

They call up Cabrera, who plays like a man possessed; they call up Francisco, Garko’s old friend from high school -- and Barfield will admit he’s jealous. Francisco and Cabrera get to play, and Barfield’s riding pine and biding his time like a rookie just up for a cup of coffee.

They win the division, champagne in everyone’s eyes, and it barely feels real until Garko throws an arm around Barfield’s shoulders, yelling something about a party at their place to the cameras. 

And it hurts.

Except.

 

**x.**  
It’s obvious this is gonna be a goddamn tragedy. Barfield’s not going to start in Cleveland next year; not with Cabrera coming on like Vizquel decided to try playing second.

It was a bad idea in this inherently transient life.

Barfield’s telling Garko this in December, over the phone so he doesn’t have to see his face.

And Garko says, “Yeah. It’s gonna be hard.” And then “You wanna try anyway?”

_No_. That’s the smart thing, the responsible thing. But when he opens his mouth, he says, “Yeah.”

At least if he’s gotta be dumb, he’s not being dumb alone.


End file.
